


How to Cheer Up a Russian Assassin 101

by Goneahead



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, larceny of edibles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goneahead/pseuds/Goneahead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's new partner needs some cheering up. Since he can't punch Rumlow, he improvises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Cheer Up a Russian Assassin 101

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed fic for Mini Wrimo. This one is for the prompt: "bad day".

~~+~~

Clint checked the crawl space above the back up generators.

_Nope._

He slid the maintenance panel back into place, and then put his boots on the outside of the ladder, slid down.

So--catwalk?

He slowed, thinking. To get there he had two choices; the long way through shipping and receiving, or the much shorter path through the motor pool.

Which he'd been told to quit using.

It hadn't been a direct order, though, and he could always use the practice.

The decision made, Clint headed north to the _other_ maintenance ladder. He climbed up, took a left through the old steam tunnel, then stepped out onto one of the long girders that spanned the enormous motor pool.

Only four inches wide, the old iron girders had long since been bypassed by a more robust trussing system to keep the base from falling into the caves below. Their only remaining function, as far as he could tell, was to create a great shortcut to get from one side of the base to the other.

Which he wasn't supposed to use, but—whatever.

He made sure to wave at the security camera as he started across. The last bit was tricky--he had to take a running jump to reach the ventilation shaft opening on the other side. He made it--mostly. He did a rather awkward wriggle, got the rest of himself into the shaft. He waved at the _other_ security camera, then checked the package in his jacket.

Not smooshed.

_Good._

He inched along until he came to another maintenance panel. He removed it, dropped down onto the catwalk.

_Bingo._

Nat was curled in the shadows at the far end, watching the helicarrier being built below. Or more accurately, rebuilt. The government had decided to retrofit a battleship to fucking _fly_ , which had to be one of the stupidest ideas. Like, ever. 

He sat down beside her. "Hey."

"Do you think we made a difference today?" She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees.

Clint shrugged. "Probably not."

They both knew there would always be another human trafficking ring to take down, just like there would always be another family willing to trade an unwanted kid for cash. They also knew that wasn't the reason she was up here.

This was about her being the new agent, and too damn good at what she did. This was about the other agents being complete and total jackasses about it.

Clint _still_ wanted to punch Brock Rumlow.

He'd also been directly ordered not to by Fury, like, three years ago during the fiasco in Tours—and Fury had never officially rescinded the order.

Which totally sucked, because Rumlow really could've used some punching today.

"Here." He unzipped his jacket, pulled out the container of strawberries he'd stolen. The cooks would've probably given it to him if he asked, but stealing food was one habit he wasn't quite ready to break.

She looked at the container, her eyes revealing nothing.

"Come on, take one. I went through a lot of effort to get them."

She uncurled, reached for a strawberry. "What effort? A child could've stolen these."

"Naw. They overhauled security after the poisoning at the Argentina embassy last year. There's fingerprint scanners on all the walk-ins and freezers." Clint could see the spark of interest in her eyes. "There's also brand new Kryp-TR locks on all the outer doors."

She finished the strawberry, took another one. "Anything else?"

He tipped his head back, studying her, and she arched one eyebrow slightly.

Apparently Clint wasn't the only one who found that stealing stuff made a bad day better. That? Was an _awesome_ thing to find about his new partner.

"Yeah, there's something else you should know." He grabbed another strawberry, then laid out the challenge. "The director likes Bluebell ice cream. They keep a special stash just for him in the southwest freezer, second level. I bet you can’t steal some."

“How much?” Natasha was almost smiling now.

He pondered the question for a couple of seconds. “Twenty-five cents.”

A corner of Natasha’s mouth twitched. “A quarter?”

“Yup.” Clint grinned back, and offered her the last two strawberries. “Fury said he would assign my ass to Greenland if he caught me betting one more damn dollar.”

Natasha laughed—a low, throaty chuckle. She ate the last strawberry, then stood up. “I’ll be back--and I’ll bring spoons, too.”

~~Finis~~


End file.
